Lauren drove to her father’s home and let herself in with the key he kept stashed under a colorful frog garden ornament she’d painted for him in the third grade. The house felt as if it, too, felt the loss of its master, even though so few hours had passed since he’d last left it.
Coming home had often been her refuge after a stressful week at work or after yet another bad breakup. This time, she could scarcely recognize the house that had once served as the backdrop to all her most precious memories.
One thing in particular bothered her today, though. Why had her father been out driving that morning, and why so recklessly that he failed to see the deer dart across the expressway until it was too late for either of them?
As a retired school teacher, he didn’t have anywhere pressing he needed to be. And when he did, he preferred to walk through their small town to greet his former students and the neighbors he’d known for years. So why had things been different today?
She’d need to plan a funeral, and no doubt half—if not, all—the town would be in attendance. And she would have to sort his things, settle his estate, make sure everything was buttoned up neatly with her father’s life.
But what happened next?
She no longer had a job, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to bear life in this place on her own. Despite loving her neighbors, she’d now become the one they would all pity and whisper about when she was nowhere to be seen. That’s not how Lauren wanted to live. She wanted to live a big life, one that would honor her father’s memory rather than linger in his shadow.
Lauren found the coffee maker she’d bought her father for Christmas just a couple weeks before and was happy to see he’d gotten the chance to use it. She set it to brew and went to her father’s room to check for clues as to why he’d gone out that day.
It felt strange rummaging through his things when he’d so recently used them, almost like an invasion of privacy. But that was silly. She and her father hadn’t kept any secrets from each other over the years. It’s why their relationship had been so strong. He spoke candidly to her about her mother’s death, about whether or not there was enough to pay the bills each month, about everything.
He’d prepared Lauren for life as best he knew how, which Lauren knew was far better than most young women her age. But he’d never taught her how to carry on without him. They’d both foolishly assumed that such a day would be a long way off, that Lauren would be married, with kids, living her best life—not a freshly unemployed nobody lacking any clear direction.
She returned to the kitchen and poured herself a mug of coffee. Normally she’d soften the taste with extra milk and sugar, but today she lavished the sharp, acidic flavor as it hit her tongue. Carrying her mug with her, she returned to the bedroom and opened up the closet.
Her father’s shirts hung in a straight row, neatly pressed and ready for wears that would never come. In the far corner, a stack of four shoe boxes pressed against the wall. It was where he kept his memory boxes. They’d often leaf through the contents together as he told Lauren stories of her mother and how much alike they’d been, how proud she would’ve been.
Proud of what, though? Lauren wondered with a sad, nostalgic sigh.
She pulled the boxes from the closet and set them on the neatly made bed. She knew the one with the turquoise lid held the memories and photos of her mother. The purple one contained Lauren’s childhood, and the orange her high school years. She didn’t remember a fourth box and now eyed the additional brown cardboard container with suspicion.
Naturally, she opened that one first.
Immediately she was met with neatly stacked newspaper clippings and old Polaroid photos. The Anchorage Daily News, the masthead on the first read. But hadn’t they always lived in New York?
She continued to read the article:
Edward Dalton becomes the youngest musher to place in the top twenty at the Iditarod, beating out several more experienced men and securing his place as a rising star and a serious contender for next year.
Dog racing? Alaska? None of this made sense. Why had her father kept something so innocent from her all these years? And why had he stopped if he was one of the greats?
She continued to leaf through the contents of the box, unearthing pictures of dogs, tightly bundled men, and even an old collar. Clearly this had meant something vital to her father, but again, she could not figure out why he’d keep this, of all things, from her.
She took out her phone and did a search on “sled dogs.” Perhaps there was some seedy underbelly she didn’t know about? The idea seemed ridiculous, especially given how straight-laced her father had always been dating back as far as she could remember.
One of the top results on Google was for the country music star Lolly Winston. Lauren owned both of her CDs and liked to listen to Lolly on the long commute to her old job. Curious, she clicked into an article about the Sled Dog Rescue Organization, a charity founded by Lolly and her husband Oscar Rockwell roughly two years back.
“We need to preserve the last great race, and to make sure retired dogs find loving forever homes,” Lolly had been quoted. “There’s something so beautiful about seeing these dogs in their element both on the slopes and at home.”
Lauren found herself nodding along as she read and, before she knew it, she’d clicked over to the SDRO website, which featured a list of adoptable dogs along with other ways to help.
If you have the heart, they need the home.
Lauren liked that, especially considering it felt like a heart was the only thing she had left these days—and a badly broken one at that.
The longer she stayed on the website, the more it called to her.
These dogs will love you with everything they’ve got. They are so grateful to be rescued, to get a second chance.
A second chance, Lauren thought. I wish someone would rescue me.
And then she found their blog, and at the top of the feed was a picture of a handsome, rugged-looking man standing with a group of nearly thirty dogs.
Shane Ramsey, the post said, has long been considered one of the top racers of the day. Unfortunately, an ill-fated training run with his snow machine has crushed in his kneecap. The injury will require a long and difficult healing process, if indeed healing is to occur at all. Although his condition is stable, no word yet as to whether he will be able to continue racing. Mr. Ramsey is now searching for a handler to help care for his team while he attempts to make a full recovery. All the other teams are already deep into this season’s training, leaving Shane and his team sidelined. That is why he’s come to us, and we are now coming to you. If you have the heart, we have a job and a home for at least the next three months, but for as long as a year. Will you help care for this incredible team? Please enquire at…
Lauren pressed the call button as soon as she recognized that a phone number had been given. The paper had called her father one of the top racers of his decade, and now the blog had said the same thing about this Shane guy. She no longer had a job, a home, anything.
It felt like everything was leading her to this one place, so she took a deep breath and stepped toward her calling.